


White Shirt

by yehetmeup



Series: GOT7 Colors Series [3]
Category: GOT7
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 03:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehetmeup/pseuds/yehetmeup
Summary: Your roommate drags you to a painting party at a warehouse and you leave with much more than just a few paint splatters. Color: purple.





	White Shirt

“What the heck is a paint party?” you ask, looking down at the flyer your friend handed you.

“Oh come on, pleeease? It will be fun I promise,” she pleads, holding her hands together in front of her chest and sticking out her bottom lip.

You laugh at her adorable expression and turn your attention back to the flyer. Gasworks Studio Paint Party. Saturday June 19th 7-10pm. $10 admission price, drinks for sale. Wear a white shirt and get ready to get messy. You tilt your head and consider. 

“Okay fine, I’m in. But if this is anything weird, I’m out of there in a second,” you say with an attempt at a stern look at her.

She draws back, pretending to be scandalized. “Would I lead you astray?” she says, smothering a laugh. You both know very well that she’s lead you on some interesting excursions in your attempt to meet new people in the few weeks since you moved to Seattle.

So far you’d been to that horrible speed dating night. A rock climbing class that lead to a fun hobby and new friends, but no romantic prospects. And a couples cooking class where she met an adorable guy that she went out with a few times. 

You got paired with Albert, the forty year old divorcée looking to get back out on the dating scene. He was very sweet and you quickly bonded over a love of corgis, he was at least twenty years older than you and definitely didn’t lead to anything romantic.

“What are they having us paint that would get us messy?” you ask your roommate curiously, raising an eyebrow.

“This girl at work told me all about it, but I’m not going to ruin the surprise,” she says and dances out of the way when you try to grab her arm. “You’ll just have to wait for Saturday to find out!”

The large warehouse is set up against the waterfront and as you approach you can hear music playing from inside. You and your roommate both wear slightly loose, short-sleeved white shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes. Wanting to be ready for anything you’d skipped a purse and slipped your phone, ID, and cards into your pocket. 

You come up to the entrance to the building and join a small line of people waiting to get in, all wearing white shirts.

Your roommate grabs your arm and squeals as she bounces up and down. You give her a wry smile, holding off on your enthusiasm until you know what you’re getting into. The line moves quickly and you give your $10 to the man waiting at the door.

“Hey there, ladies. First time here?” he asks in an upbeat voice.

You both nod. He points to the wide, paint-splattered table set up in the entrance of the room. There’s plastic cups filled with an assortment of paint, each with a paintbrush stuck in them. On the other side of the entryway you see a bar, the girl behind it is handing out beers to a group of guys.

“Take a cup of paint, as many as you like throughout the night,” the man starts with a smile. “The rules are: no painting in anyone’s eyes or mouth, obviously. And you have to ask before you paint on someone. Other than that, just have fun!” he says and motions you into the room, turning to greet the next people in line.

You open your mouth to ask him what he means by “eyes or mouth,” wrinkling your brow in confusion, but your roommate takes your arm and pulls you over to the table. She peruses the paint colors for a moment before settling on a bright blue color. She picks up the cup, handing it to you. She then grabs a neon pink color for herself and holds it in both hands, turning to you.

“So here’s the thing,” she starts with a smirk. “What we’re all painting tonight… it’s each other.” She points past the entryway into the main space of the warehouse. The main room is wide and open, a domed ceiling drawing your eye. Dozens of people mill around the space, holding beers and cups of paint, talking and laughing with each other.

Your eyes go wide when you realize that she’s exactly right, everyone is painting on each other’s white shirts and faces. A pretty woman near you is already half-covered in paint, a man next to her is drawing a red heart along the side of her neck. Up ahead two girls are working together on a man’s back, drawing a colorful butterfly in various shades.

You turn to your roommate with a disapproving look. “What?” she says innocently. “Would you really have come if you’d known what it was going to be like beforehand?” she says teasingly, poking your shoulder with her finger.

You huff out a laugh, knowing she’s right. “All right, fine. You got me there. I probably would have said no. But we’re here now, so… how do we do this?” you ask, staring around at the crowd nervously.

“I don’t know,” she says, “I guess we just go up to people?”

With a shrug she dives into the crowd and you follow after her. She comes upon two good-looking guys leaning against a work table, talking as they drink beers. With her usual confidence she walks up to them and holds out her brush loaded with pink paint.

“Now boys, I think you are both sorely lacking in paint at the moment. Mind if we fix that?” she asks with a grin.

One of the guys sets down his beer and gives her a wide smile. He picks up his cup of light blue paint and holds out the brush.

“Only if I can be the first one to paint on you in return?” he asks with a boyish grin.

She nods happily and she starts drawing some shapes on the sleeve of his shirt, asking him if he’s been here before. His friend turns to you with a bored look. 

“Guess that leaves us to paint on each other?” he asks with not much interest.

You sigh to yourself. Stuck with the dud, just my luck, you think, shaking your head. You think wryly to yourself that your roommate is lucky she’s such a good friend or you might hold this against her. After quickly drawing a blue smiley face on the back of his shirt, he lazily draws a shape on your back, but you don’t even bother to ask what he chose.

Unfortunately for you, he’s much less fun to talk to than Albert from the cooking class. And extra unfortunately, he’s the kind of boring person who loves to hear himself talk. For several minutes he speaks at you, not with you, about the work that he does in accounting. You nod at appropriate points, though you don’t think he really needs any feedback. 

Your friend and her man are laughing together, taking turns drawing shapes on each others arms. She looks over a few times and gives you a happy smile. You hold up your paint cup in what you hope is a convincingly positive manner, not wanting to ruin her night just because yours is going poorly.

Just when you feel your eyes starting to glaze over, another man joins you, brushing your arm with his. Turning to look you see that the newcomer is tall, lean, with a shock of grayish white hair pushed back in several directions and filled with colorful splatters of paint. He gives you a warm smile, his lush lips turning up into a friendly grin.

“There you are, sorry I’m late honey,” he says affectionately, putting a light arm around your waist. He’s holding a cup of red paint in his hand. “Let’s grab a drink.”

You raise your eyebrow at him, smothering a laugh. He gives you a mischievous grin, indicating that he knows exactly what he’s saving you from. You nudge him with your elbow.

“You took long enough, I was starting to get worried,” you say with a smirk. “Thanks for the chat, it was great to meet you,” you say to the boring friend, letting this new man draw you over to the drink line before you start laughing. As you join the long line you turn toward him.

“Thank you so much, I was dying there,” you tell him.

“God, I could tell,” he says with a grin. “Seemed like he was about to put you to sleep. It was the least I could do to step in and save a pretty girl.” He winks, drawing out another laugh from you.

“Well, thank you again. I appreciate it…” you trail off, raising your brows.

“BamBam,” he says holding out a hand.

“I’m Y/N,” you say and shake his hand, feeling a rush of excitement at the contact.

He pauses there for a moment, neither of you letting go, his warm eyes locked on yours.

“What can I get you two?” an impatient female voice asks in front of you.

You turn and realize that several people have ordered and that now you are several feet from the counter. The woman behind it is staring at you, motioning you forward. BamBam looks behind you at the line of people waiting and chuckles, gently putting his hand around your back as you scurry up to the counter.

“Umm, just a soda for me, thanks,” you say, pulling out your wallet.

“Me too,” Bambam says.

Once you both have your drinks you make your way back into the crowd, finding a spot to stand next to one of the paint-covered work tables. As you sip your drinks you admire the designs that BamBam has on his shirt already. He shows you the hearts someone drew on his chest, something that seems to be common here. Someone else drew a smiley face on his arm. A blue pattern of clouds wraps around his waist.

“So, do you mind if I paint on you?” he asks with a grin, holding out his paint brush. “I have a design that I think would be perfect.”

You regard him cautiously. “Depends on what it is,” you answer.

He holds his hands up innocently. “I promise it’s nothing bad, but it is on your face if that’s okay?”

You look around you. Now that the evening is fully under way you see that most of the people around you have paint not only on their shirt, but on their face as well. A dash of pink on their cheeks. A splotch of yellow on their nose. A line of green down the neck. You turn back to Bambam with a shrug.

“Okay, fine. I’ll trust you. But I get to draw on you next, and I’ll totally get my revenge if it’s anything bad,” you tease.

“Deal,” he says, giving you a wink.

He dips his brush in the paint and begins with two lines on your cheek. You flinch for a moment as the cold paint touches your skin, but quickly get used to it. He repeats the motion on your other cheek. This close you can feel his breath on your skin, his eyes darting back and forth between yours and what he’s drawing. With a dab of paint on your nose he leans back to examine his work, smiling.

“Perfect, what do you think?” he asks, motioning to one of the mirrors on the wall above a sink.

You walk over and take a look. The room isn’t too brightly lit; colorful lights around the room throw beams onto the space to break up the low overhead lighting. But you can make out your face enough to see the design. You smile when you see that he’s drawn a red set of cat’s whiskers on your face. The effect is cute, and you turn back to him happily.

“You’re in luck, I like it. No revenge necessary,” you say as you make your way back to him.

“Good, I’m glad,” he says and pretends to wipe sweat off his forehead dramatically. 

You giggle and grab your own paint cup, putting the brush end against your lips as you ponder what to draw on him. A heart or a smiley face seems too cliché to do for him, so you settle for turning one of his arms over so you can draw on the inside. He smirks as you draw a pattern of shapes all along his arm. When it feels complete you pull back, waiting for his reaction.

He turns his arm back and forth, the vibrant blue paint standing out in the colorful lighting. “I like it. Very abstract,” he says with a grin. “I think I should nickname you Picasso.”

Your roommate finds you a moment later, dragging the guy she was with earlier by the sleeve. They both have considerably more paint on them than the last time you saw them. 

“Hey! There you are! I wondered where you went off to,” she starts. Her cheeks are flushed and her smile is enormous, you can tell that she’s once again found someone she likes. I guess I did too this time, you think to yourself, taking in Bambam’s side profile as he stands next to you. 

You introduce Bambam and she introduces herself and the guy she likes, who’s name is Kyle. She clicks her tongue, saying she can’t believe you haven’t painted each other yet. You all start chatting as you and your roommate take turns doodling on each other’s shirts. 

People filter through your group over the course of the night, but BamBam stays by your side. A sweet older woman draws a crown on your arm. A cute couple, both named Amy, draw an awesome green dragon on the back of your shirt. And a disgruntled frat boy draws an incredibly realistic turtle on the bottom of one sleeve.

Once it gets to 9:30 you and BamBam are both absolutely covered in paint, both your shirts and your faces. He’s a great conversationalist and can make instant friends with just about anyone, you discover. You keep thinking to yourself that you’re finally happy with one of the things your roommate dragged you to.

“So, the party might be ending, but the night’s still young. Want to go out on the town and grab a drink?” he asks hopefully. 

“Oooh, yes please!” your roommate says, looking at Kyle, who nods in agreement.

You look down at your paint splattered clothing, imagining the looks you’ll be getting in downtown Seattle on a Saturday night covered in paint. You shrug and smile gamely at the group. “Sure, let’s do it.” 

You head back to the paint table to desposit the cups. There’s still a good amount left in the bottom of yours and BamBam notices. 

“Hey, you’ve still got some to use up,” he says with a grin. “You should add some finishing touches to my face.” He sticks his face towards yours dramatically. 

You laugh and load up the brush with blue and start coloring big blue splotches on his cheeks. He makes silly faces while you paint and you both crack up. When you’re finished you set the cup down on the table with a satisfied thunk. BamBam grabs your hand and you head out to meet Kyle and your roommate out front. 

Keeping up it’s Seattle stereotype, there’s a light rain now falling. People are frantically dashing for their cars, trying to avoid the dripping paint from running onto everything. 

BamBam looks at you with what you’re coming to recognize as his signature mischevious smile. He gently pulls you out from the awning and into the rain. You squeal and valiantly try to put your hands on your head to keep off the rain, but after a second or two you give up and just start laughing along with him.

He pulls you toward him, his other hand finding yours and you stand there for a moment smiling at each other. Then he moves his hands to cup your face, tracing his thumbs across the wet paint on your cheeks. 

“You look so cute right now,” he says with a laugh. “Like a slightly damp, red cat.” 

“Now you officially look like Picasso, during his blue period of course,” you say, watching the blue paint start to slide down his cheeks. 

You stand there in the rain for a moment before his attention is drawn down to your lips. He darts his eyes back up to yours and he tilts his head, asking silent permission. You nod your head and beat him to it, grabbing his face in your hands and pulling his lips to yours. 

The cool Seattle rain had made your lips chilly, but his warm mouth on yours quickly heats it back up. You stand on your tiptoes to be able to reach him better, and you each hold onto the other’s face to press yourselves closer together. He smiles against your lips and pulls back for a moment. 

“You know, I wasn’t planning on coming to this since my co-worker bailed out at the last minute, but I’m really glad I did,” he says warmly. 

You tilt back up to kiss him again, briefly pressing your lips to his. “I’m pretty glad you did too,” you reply.

“Move it along you two!” your roommate calls from up the street good-naturedly. “Some of us would like to get out of the rain before it stains everything!”

“Okay, okay! We’re coming,” you call after her and grab BamBam’s hand in yours. 

“Hey wait. Look,” he says, letting your hand go and staring at his palm. The two colors have merged together; red from your cheeks, blue from his. They’ve formed a vibrant purple color. You smile and recapture his hand, pulling him down for another kiss before tugging him along.


End file.
